Stillwater  Pastorals 

and  Other  Poems 
By  Paul  Shivell 


THE  NEW  POETRY  SERIES 


HOUGHTQN   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York 


ifteto  JJoctrp 


IRRADIATIONS.    SAND  AND  SPRAY.    JOHN  GOULD 
FLETCHER. 

SOME  IMAGIST  POETS. 

JAPANESE     LYRICS.       Translated    by    LAFCADIO 
HEARN. 

AFTERNOONS  OF  APRIL.    GRACE  HAZARD  CONK- 
LING. 

THE  CLOISTER;  A  VERSE  DRAMA.     EMILB  VER- 

HABRBN. 

INTERFLOW.    GEOFFREY  C.  FABBR. 

STILLWATER   PASTORALS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
PAUL  SHIVELL. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY  PAUL  SHIVELL 


WITH 

A  PREFATORY  NOTE  BY 
BLISS  PERRY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

Cambrib0e 


COPYRIGHT,    1915,   BY  PAUL  SHIVELL 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  IQIJ 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

I  HAVE  asked  my  friend  Paul  Shivell's  permission  to 
make  this  selection  from  his  work  and  to  bring  it  to  the 
attention  of  other  lovers  of  poetry.  Two  or  three  of  the 
poems  were  printed,  some  years  ago,  in  the  Atlantic  and 
the  Century,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  remember  that  they 
awakened  the  keen  interest  of  Mr.  Norton  and  Mr.  Gilder. 
Some  of  the  pastoral  verses  have  been  issued  from  the 
press  of  a  local  printer  in  the  "Stillwater"  country,  but  it 
has  been  difficult  to  obtain  them.  I  have  had  entire  free 
dom  in  choosing  from  the  author's  published  and  unpublished 
poems,  and  if  I  have  failed  to  make  a  really  representative 
selection  he  must  forgive  me,  for  he  alone  will  know  the 
full  measure  of  my  sins  of  omission. 

Paul  Shivell  is  a  veritable  farmer,  though  he  has  made 
many  another  fine  adventure,  —  whimsical,  gallant,  tragic, 
—  in  many  parts  of  the  United  States.  A  wandering  ideal 
ist,  he  has  gone  back  to  the  soil.  He  can  plough  barefoot, 
and  make  verses.  Stillwater  "is,"  as  Carlyle  would  say, 
although  I  forbear  to  give  the  post-office  address.  It  lies 
somewhere  east  of"  Spoon  River  "  and  southwest  of  "  North 
of  Boston." 

Vital  experience,  then,  is  back  of  these  poems.  Good  or 
bad,  they  are  convincingly  real.  Their  fidelity  to  the  local 
landscape  is  absolute.  They  betray,  of  course,  in  their 
phrasing  and  metrical  patterns,  the  tastes  of  a  man  who 


345101 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

knows  his  Milton,  Wordsworth,  and  Shelley,  and  who  has 
learned,  by  living  for  a  while  in  Whittier's  country-side,  to 
love  Whittier.  But  they  are  untouched  by  any  of  the  con 
ventional  ornaments  of  the  "literary"  pastoral.  Moth  and 
killdee  and  morning-glory,  the  crooked  stick  in  the  flooded 
stream,  barn-loft  and  pasture  in  the  light  of  summer  and 
winter  dawns,  are  portrayed  with  a  naive  sincerity  which 
owes  little  or  nothing  to  books.  They  are  Paul  Shivell's 
life,  —  throbbing  with  tremulous  delight  in  simple  things, 
ardent  as  a  flame,  tender,  exigent,  haunted  by  that  Sebn- 
sucbt  indescribable  by  any  English  word. 

For  he  wants,  no  doubt,  what  every  poet  wants :  not 
only  the  ineffable  moment  of  personal  experience,  but 
readers,  friends,  followers.  He  has  had  these  last  in  but 
scanty  measure,  and  yet  in  his  sonnets  he  reveals  his  per 
fect  faith  that  they  will  come.  "  Defeated,  we  acknowledge 
no  defeat."  He  asserts,  with  something  of  an  Elizabethan 
poet's  hunger  for  earthly  immortality,  his  right  to  be  heard 
and  his  certainty  of  being  heard  at  last.  Poets,  like  saints, 
sometimes  believe  because  the  thing  is  incredible,  and  Shi- 
veil's  personal  pride  is  mingled  with  the  humility  of  some 
"poor  brother  in  Christ,"  dreaming  a  Tolstoyan  dream 
without  any  of  the  fierce  anarchic  Tolstoyan  egoism. 

"  Poetry  bothers  most  people,"  Shivell  declares,  in  words 
that  might  have  been  written  by  Emily  Dickinson.  It  does. 
Even  the  professed  lovers  of  poetry  will  be  bothered  by 
some  of  ShiveH's  harsh  and  prosaic  lines,  his  willfully  im 
perfect  rhymes,  and  the  obstinacy  of  his  quiet  assertion  that 
his  day  will  come.  His  sonnets  are  too  personal  for  the 
richest  variety  of  note  and  cadence,  and  the  "  proud  remote 

[  vi] 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

obscurity  "  to  which  he  clings  will  seem  to  some  readers  a 
passion  inconsistent  with  his  ultimate  willingness  to  be  dis 
covered.  But  brother  poets  are  not  likely  to  misunderstand 
his  case.  The  new  generation  of  enthusiasts  for  American 
verse  may  find  Paul  Shivell  lacking  in  the  technical  inven 
tiveness  which  discovers  novel  and  intricate  forms  of  ex 
pression,  but  they  will  not  turn  many  pages  of  this  volume 
before  finding  that  here  is  the  revelation  of  a  personality 
unique  in  our  twentieth-century  literature,  as  Emily  Dick 
inson  was  unique  among  the  writers  of  the  preceding  gen 
eration.  No  doubt  Paul  Shivell  is  a  "minor"  poet,  but  in 
that  phrase  the  adjective  is  less  significant  than  the  noun.  I, 
at  least,  writing  frankly  as  one  of  his  friends,  find  in  his 
work  a  rare  and  delicate  savor,  and  an  authentic  inspiration. 

BLISS  PERRY.. 
CAMBRIDGE,  October, 


CONTENTS 

STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Moth  and  Killdee  3 

On  the  Miami  5 

Stillwater  6 

As  through  the  Dawn  8 

Seedtime  10 

Winter  Morning  1 1 

Moons  Wax,  Moons  Wane  12 

June  Second  13 

The  Rescue  14 

Will  and  Testament  17 

To  a  Crooked  Stick  19 

December  Days  22 

On  Being  Urged  to  Publish  24 

As  Day,  so  Spring  Returns  25 

To  a  Bloodroot  Flower  25 

In  Few  Words  27 

Finale  28 

To  JANE  REECE,  PHOTOGRAPHER 

I.  The  Studios  Photographic  33 

II.  Voice  musical  with  sacred  joy  and  pain  34 

[ix]    ' 


CONTENTS 

III.  Never    hard    light    full  on    thy    subject 

streaming  35 

IV.  True  artists  are  true  lovers  of  the  True  36 
V.  Arthur,  my  Son  36 

VI.  Pictures  not  Life  37 

"I  MARVEL" 

I.  Imminence  41 

II.  Exaltation  42 

III.  Humility  43 

GOD  BUILT  CREATION 

God  Built  Creation  47 

Midsummer  Sadness  48 

Liberty  49 

The  Flight  in  the  Night  53 

Dust  of  Old  Days  55 

To  a  Seagull  56 

War  Breaks  Out  in  Europe,  August,  1914  57 

Rheims  58 

The  Arrow-Head  59 

SONNETS  TO  H.  L.  H. 

I.  Of  his  Appropriate  Entity  63 

II.  His  Noble  Birth  64 

III.  His  Wary  Restlessness  64 

IV.  His  Austere  Submission  65 


CONTENTS 

V.  His  One  Purpose  66 

VI.  His  Thinking  67 

VII.  His  Frank  Self-expression  67 

VIII.  His  Joyous  Escape  68 
IX.  On  his  Genius  69 

X.  His  Character  70 

XI.  His  Art  70 

XII.  His  Philosophical  Pioneering  7 1 

XIII.  And  on  his  Birthday  Anniversary  72 

APOLOGIA 

I.  "I've  wish'd  I'd  been  born  prose"  75 

II.  "If  boldly  I  could  charm"  76 

III.  "If  I  could  tell"  76 

IV.  "  Song  would  not  be  "  77 
V.  "Christ  by  the  hasty  mob"  78 

VI.  "I'll  feel  well  paid"  79 

VII.  "Thou  who  art  sacredly  alone  "  79 

VIII.  "We  yet  can  triumph"  80 

IX.  "What  if  I  fail"  81 

X.  "None  seems  to  care"  82 

XI.  "Mount  up  on  Wings"  82 

XII.  "  Thy  quivering  body  "  83 

XIII.  "What  if  my  strength"  84 

XIV.  "Peace,  peace"  85 
XV.  "I'll  wait  on  God"  85 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


MOTH  AND   KILLDEE 

WAS  ever  richest  Oriental  cloth 
Beautiful  as  this  damask/ winged  moth ! 
Fair  creature !   I  could  watch  thee  by  the  hour. 
But  oh,  this  young  killdee !  —  this  flying  flower !  — 
This  wild'eyed  throbbing  lily  in  my  hand  !  — 
Startles  my  soul  with  more  ecstatic  pain 
Than  even  thou  hast  power  to  command 
Of  my  delightsomely  be%wildered  brain, 
Thou  awe-inspiring  insect !   Go,  sweet  bird, 
I  would  not  hold  thee  till  I  found  the  word 
Expressive  of  what  loveliness  I  see 
In  all  God's  works,  but  most  just  now  in  thee  ! 
That  thou  shouldst  fear  me  grieves  my  heart  —  but  flee  — 
Run,  frightened  thing, 

Into  the  reeds  —  there  hide  by  the  cool  spring  I 
To-morrow  thou  wilt  realize 
Thy  dim  dream  of  the  skies  !  — 

Thy  wings  —  thy  voice  !  —  wilt  fly  and  wheel  and  scream 
Through  God's  dominions. 
And  like  a  wild  seagull  wilt  gleam, 
Skimming  along  this  creek  on  joyous  pinions, 

[3] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

And  over  the  plow'd  fields,  timid,  but  swift, 

Easily  graceful  of  the  gift 

Thy  Maker  gave  thee  quickly  to  uplift 

And  bear  thyself  away  from  harm, 

Sounding  thy  distant  seabirdlike  alarm ! 

And  I  will  watch  thee  as  thou  goest 

Up  and  down  the  valley,  wading,  running,  flying,  — 

And  every  glimpse  of  thy  white  wings  thou  showest, 

Even  thine  alarmed  crying, 

Through  my  senses  shall  appeal 

To  the  joys  and  griefs  I  feel. 

Thou  wilt  signal  and  wilt  speak 

To  my  spirit ! 

And  echoing  along  this  inland  creek 

Wilt  bid  me  love  my  home  the  more, 

Because  thy  glad  wild  presence  doth  endear  it. 

Thou  wilt  transport  me  to  the  shore 

Of  mighty  deeps, 

Where  the  wind  seldom  sleeps, 

But  heaving  billows  that  no  rocks  affright 

Out  of  the  darkness  loom, 

Or  bursting  into  bloom 

Of  manycolor'd  light, 

In  sun  and  moon  and  lofty  starbright  night, 

Forevermore 

In  awful  solemnity 

[4] 


ON  THE  MIAMI 

With  the  swelling  and  falling  tide 

Come  and  subside 

And  return  to  the  wide, 

Wide  sea.  - 

Entranced  I  watch  and  listen  and  adore ! 

And  each  oncoming,  rising,  streaming  wall 

Aspiring  to  groin  its  dome 

Will  fall, 

Breaking  afresh  into  crystal  ruins  of  glorious  foam ! 

To  pour 

And  rush  and  roar 

And  sigh 

And  spread  in  beauty  ever  o'er 

The  clean  white  shell'Strewn  floor 

Of  the  wide,  wide  world  alway, 

Where  a  thousand  years  are  as  a  day. 

Dimmer  and  dimmer 

The  glad  gulls  in  the  distance  glimmer. 

Summer  is  gone :  I  miss  thy  gleam  and  cry. 

ON  THE  MIAMI 

A  FLUTE  came  o'er  the  water  in  the  night ! 

Sober  and  sweet  it  wander'd  down  the  scale  ; 
And  back  returning  with  a  deep  delight, 

It  reach'd  the  golden  stars,  and  told  its  tale ! 
[5  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Warbling,  it  came,  a  swan  under  full  sail, 

Waking  melodious  miles !   While  hush'd  afar, 

As  from  a  happier  fellow  soul,  but  frail, 
Lost  in  the  passionate  fluting,  a  guitar 

Answer'd  across  the  waves  like  a  confiding  star ! 

Then  voices  of  two  souls  in  love  with  life 
Went  floating  down  the  river  in  the  moon  ; 
And  softlier  with  the  singing  came  the  tune 

Of  the  faint  cithern  and  the  sacred  fife. 

We  lean'd  with  clasped  hands  o'er  that  deep  hour, 
Until  the  music  of  contented  love 
Wound  into  river  stillness,  —  when  above 

We  heard  the  first  breath  of  the  coming  shower 
Rustling  the  foliage.    Slowly  then  toward  home 
We  strolFd  beneath  wide  elms  in  the  green  gloom; 

And  Gertrude,  all  in  white,  look'd  like  a  flower. 


STILLWATER 

STILLWATER,  on  thy  mirror'd  banks, 
Maiden  and  youth,  my  Love  and  I, 

Oft  from  the  old  wood's  broken  ranks 

Watch'd  o'er  the  lake  the  evening  sky. 

Tranquilly  flow'd  thy  current  by, 

We  scarce  could  deem  it  was  a  river, 
[6] 


STILLWATER 

Where  Heaven,  that  look'd  so  still  and  high, 
Seemed  deepening  in  thy  depths  forever  ! 

Oft  on  a  mild,  sweet  Sabbath  hour 

We  wander'd  there,  two  happy  lovers, 
Down  woodland  paths,  through  fields  in  flower, 

Where  bees  buzz'd  round  the  drooping  clovers. 
Curtain'd  in  green  bird'haunted  nook, 

Beneath  an  aged  sycamore, 
We  read  sweet  poems  from  a  book, 

And  sang  beside  thy  sacred  shore. 

The  sun  declined,  the  landscape  blush'd, 

And  droop'd  in  its  luxuriant  beauty ; 
High  overhead  the  leaves  were  hush'd ; 

And  bells  came  from  the  distant  city. 
Along  the  gravel  clutch'd  the  roots 

Of  elms  that  lean'd  out  o'er  the  water, 
And  swept  the  lovers  who  in  boats 

Oar'd  gurgling  through  their  shade  with  laughter. 

Lightly  the  ripples  wash'd  the  grass ; 

And  lighter,  swifter  dipt  the  swallow. 
The  widening  wake  would  curve  and  pass, 

And  sympathetic  silence  follow ; 
Till  up  and  down  thy  golden  stream, 

In  the  dark  woods  and  still  reflections, 
[  7] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

The  deepening  picture,  like  a  dream, 
Grew  Eden/old  in  all  directions. 

Mysterious  feelings,  with  the  night, 

Crept  o'er  us,  sitting  there  together ; 
The  ancient  stars  grew  young  and  bright. 

We  seem'd  to  understand  each  other. 
And  when  at  last  we  rose  to  go, 

She  gave  me  something  for  a  token  ; 
Long  as  thy  whispering  waters  flow, 

Our  promises  will  ne'er  be  broken. 

Slow  since,  through  unjust  penury, 

Far  from  thy  scenes  we  Ve  toil'd  and  blunder'd ; 
And,  praying  men  might  soon  be  free, 

The  Truth  we  Ve  taught,  and  seen  dishonor'd. 
And  Oh !  may  He  Who  loves  us  all 

Come  quickly,  and  abide  forever, 
That  on  the  human  race  may  fall 

The  beauty  of  the  woods  and  river. 

AS  THROUGH  THE  DAWN 

As  through  the  dawn  I  took  my  way, 

Holding  a  morning-glory  flower, 
Up  buzz'd  a  roving  bumble  bee, 

And  lit,  and  crept  into  my  bower, 
[8] 


AS  THROUGH  THE  DAWN 

Sipt  and  withdrew  and  buzz'd  and  flew 
In  search  of  other  nectarous  dew. 


The  mealy  pollen  from  his  thighs, 

White  foam  upon  blue  swelling  ocean, 

Or  silver  stars  in  moonlight  skies, 
Symbols  of  natural  devotion, 

Reveal'd  on  silken  fluttering  field 

The  shrine  where  he  had  been  and  kneel'd. 

But  he,  most  comical  to  see, 

That  big  important  busy  fellow, 

Sipping  oblivious  of  me, 

Bare'legg'd  and  fat,  with  sash  of  yellow, 

Hairy  and  happy  and  content, 

As  on  his  morning  rounds  he  went,  — 

I  laugh'd  to  see  him  booming  wild, 
Unconscious  of  his  place  in  nature, 

Not  getting  riled  because  I  smiled, 
Nor  shamed  at  his  inferior  stature  ; 

He  's  not  an  eagle,  just  a  bumble. 

Brave  mite !  That  men  were  half  as  humble. 


[9] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


SEEDTIME 

WE  harrow'd  the  sandy  bottom  lands, 
The  horses  and  I,  with  the  harrow's  hands  ; 
With  the  harrow's  fingers  we  finger'd  it  over, 

And  claw'd  it  up,  and  dragg'd  it  down, 
To  sow  a  field  of  grass  and  clover, 

Far  from  the  city,  in  sight  of  the  town  ; 
In  sight  of  the  quiet  country  village, 

Near  the  pasture  lowland  that  smelleth  sweet, 

With  open  bosom  and  naked  feet 
I  followed  the  harrow  and  waded  the  tillage, 
Back  and  forth,  back  and  forth, 
Gee'ing  south,  and  gee'ing  north, 
With  now  a  pause  and  welcome  rest 
For  enraptured  poet  and  patient  beast. 

A  lark  mounts  up  where  the  rosebrier  bends, 
And  over  the  meadow  rising  and  falling, 
A  voice  out  of  the  distance  calling, 

Into  a  neighboring  farm  descends. 

There  on  her  nest  he  findeth  his  mate ; 

And  mine  will  be  in  the  lane  at  the  gate  ; 

The  little  ones  on  the  team  will  ride, 

And  I  '11  go  home  with  them  by  her  side. 


WINTER  MORNING 


WINTER  MORNING 

I  RISE  and  look  out  at  the  window,  Love, 

And  all  the  stars  are  shining.   While  I  dress 

Lie  thou  and  take  thy  needful  morning  sleep ; 

And  I  will  tiptoe  downstairs  with  the  lamp, 

And  build  the  kitchen  fire,  the  table  set 

For  breakfast,  and  our  patient  creatures  greet 

With  lantern  in  the  stable  where  they  chew 

Meekly  their  fodder.   Frosty  are  the  nights, 

Wholesome  and  stinging  cold.   When  the  room 's  warm, 

Or  when  thou  wilt,  come  down  and  dress  thyself 

By  jealous  lamplight,  yellow  in  the  dawn, 

Leaving  the  wee  ones  to  surprise  us  late, 

When  from  their  natural  rest,  bewilder'd  half, 

They  wake  and  rub  their  sleepy  eyes,  looking 

For  us.  Then  they  '11  grope  down,  and  smile  "Good Morn' 

ing." 
And  dress  before  the  kitchen  fire,  and  eat 

Their  porridge  from  their  little  porringers. 

So  we  '11  begin  another  busy  day, 

With  thankful  hearts  lifting  our  prayer  to  Heaven : 

That  thus  may  we  ever  be  honest  people, 

And  bring  our  children  up  to  work  and  play 

Contentedly  and  in  the  sight  of  God. 

c "  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


MOONS  WAX,  MOONS  WANE 

MOONS  wax,  moons  wane, 

Earth  will  soon  be  young  again ! 

Then  I  '11  wander  in  the  wood, 

By  brooks,  through  fields,  in  solitude,  — 

Everywhere  I  wish  I  '11  wander ! 

Up  the  hillside  over  yonder, 

Thence  where  weeds  grow  tall  and  rank 

Down  along  the  river  bank  ; 

Yearning  o'er  each  lovely  view, 

Sky  and  water,  deep  and  blue, 

Scenes  and  vistas  fair  through  trees, 

Clouds  and  sunbeams,  birds  and  bees ; 

Bee  and  bird,  sunshine  and  shade, 

Moon  and  stars  when  winds  are  laid, 

Whispering  to  me  of  Him 

Whom  I  love,  Whose  child  I  am. 

Blow,  winds,  wake  the  flowers  ! 
Warm  and  sweet,  ye  April  showers, 
Drench  them,  sparkling  with  bright  faces 
In  obscure  delightful  places  ! 
Fresh  as  pretty  children's  eyes, 
Deeply  they  reflect  the  skies, 


JUNE  SECOND 

In  dewdrops  and  fine  rainspray 
That,  sun'kiss'd,  in  clouds  away 
Wafted  by  the  wind,  go  blowing 
Where  sweet  sister  flowers  are  growing, 
Prone  to  fall  in  silver  rain 
From  the  purple  clouds  amain, 
Of  the  high  sun's  golden  streams 
Weaving  rainbows  and  sunbeams, 
Earth  and  sea  and  clouds  and  river 
Flowing  forth  in  flowers  forever ! 

JUNE   SECOND 

THIS  anniversary  of  our  marriage  morn, 

The  eighth  in  bright  succession,  is,  though  clouded, 

Our  brightest.  All  past  griefs  are  nothing  now 

To  this  one  joyous  grief  that  overshadows 

As  with  protecting  wings  two  startled  children, 

Who  had  begun  to  think  themselves  grown  big  ; 

But  now,  bewildered,  vaster  ignorance 

Compels  more  reverent  trust ;  and  we  bear  up 

And  live  through  this  dumbfounding  mystery 

By  mutual  acknowledgments  of  need, 

And  of  dependent,  babelike  helplessness. 

O  God  !  that  we  had  always  trusted  Thee 

As  now  we  think  we  trust  Thee ;  had  but  loved 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

As  now  we  cling  together  day  and  night 

In  spiritual  agreement  that  no  words 

Can  utter,  so  expressive  is  the  hush 

That  puts  to  shame  all  but  the  thought  of  Thee. 

THE  RESCUE 

UP  in  this  lofty  mow  pitching  down  straw, 
And  looking  out  upon  this  broad'braced  frame 
Which  Atlas'like  supports  the  roof  above  me, 
Where  herculean  atlantes  struggle  to  hold 
In  bounds  this  bulky  mass  of  roughage,  —  high 
In  this  plank  whale's  huge  belly,  —  or  on  rocks 
Above  the  sea,  like  old  Poseidon  leaning 
Upon  his  trident,  —  or  more  like  young  Shem 
Forking  down  feed  for  hairy  mastodons !  — 
Alone  with  God,  and  in  His  eye  at  work, 
I,  usefully  employ'd,  am  over  chaos 
Triumphant !  Thus  a  child,  sent  to  hunt  eggs, 
Tumbles  about  the  hay  with  gleeful  heart, 
Filling  with  chaff  his  curls,  and  laughs  aloud, 
Careless  of  thought's  restraint,  yet  not  alone, 
For  God  is  with  him  and  restrains  with  Love 
His  human  heart. 

From  this  oak  purline  beam 
I  see  that  situation  perilous 
[14] 


THE  RESCUE 

From  which  last  summer  with  uplifted  heart, 
DownTeaching  hand  and  muscular  contortion, 
I  rescued  my  own  boy,  the  only  child 
Now  left  me  in  a  world  where  without  children 
Life  would  be  very  lonely.  Little  adventurer  ! 
We  thresh'd  the  day  before,  and  blew  the  straw 
Up  in  this  mow  !  Swift  from  the  fierce  machine 
Flying,  it  fell  in  cavernous  confusion, 
Lightly  as  when  in  winter  all  night  long 
The  soft  snow  falls  and  covers  the  thin  ice 
Upon  the  deep  dark  rivers,  lakes  and  ponds. 
Thus  treacherous  with  pitfalls  was  it  left 
Of  its  own  weight  to  settle.  Hither  the  boy, 
Anxious  lest  something  in  this  wondrous  world 
Escape  his  sight,  climb'd  yonder  ladder,  and  stept,  • 
Not  as  he  thought  to,  on  well-founded  footing,  — 
But  down  into  a  pit  of  dust  and  chaff, 
Whose  walls  above  him  hung  as  on  a  web, 
Ready  to  bury  him  alive  !  The  child, 
Not  knowing  his  great  peril,  kept  his  head, 
And  calPd  for  me  !  I  heard  him,  as  it  chanced 
(Or  was  it  not  God's  will  that  I  should  hear  him  ? 
For  we  were  all  out  resting  on  the  porch). 
The  second  time  !   I  seem'd  to  hear  him  call : 
Faint,  far,  as  if  his  voice  came  out  of  the  ground ! 
Now  toward  the  stable  running,  shouting  loud ! 

['si 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Not  certain  where  he  was,  nor  what  his  plight 
Might  prove  :  "  Papa !  Papa !  I  'm  up  behind  these  doors 
Down  in  the  straw ! "    By  leaps  I  cleared  the  stairs, 
Climb'd  ladder,  cross'd  hay,  looking  down,  here  grasp'd 
—  Fortunate  was  my  heart  to  find  at  hand 
These  big  substantial  doors  whence  I,  to  batten 
Clinging,  might  reach  down  in  that  dangerous  place 
And  give  the  little  thoughtless  child  my  hand ! 
So  God  hath  many  a  time  given  me  His ! 
And  gave  me  now,  else  had  I  not  yet  found 
The  body  of  my  boy,  nor  guess'd,  alas, 
His  fate  nor  whereabouts  even  to  this  hour ! 
Never  did  all  rny  muscles,  bones  and  sinews 
To  their  respective  offices  attend 
With  so  much  eager  willingness  to  do 
Each  one  his  part !  For  afterwards  I  knew, 
When  I  had  drawn  him  up,  and  those  chaff  walls 
Had  slipp'd  and  filPd  that  hole,  I  knew  I  could  not 
With  all  my  might  and  will  repeat  the  twist, 
So  surely  did  God  help  me  in  that  moment 
Of  instant  extreme  helplessness.  O  heart ! 
How  we  did  praise  Him  through  uplifted  silence, 
Panting  with  agitation  !   As  if  angels 
Witnessed  the  need  and  deed,  and  for  the  praise 
Hung  listening  !  that  they,  too,  might  render  Him 
Sweetjuti/afe,  such  as  they  in  Heaven 

[  16  ] 


WILL  AND  TESTAMENT 

Shout,  when  the  Shepherd  findeth  one  lost  lamb, 
And  on  His  shoulder  beareth  it  to  the  Fold ! 


WILL  AND  TESTAMENT 

WHEN  from  this  house  of  clay  I  go, 
And  with  solemn  step  and  slow, 
Respectful  to  the  honor'd  dead, 
Tenderly  ye  lay  this  head, 
With  its  pallid  upturn'd  face, 
In  its  last  long  resting/place, 
Close  beside  the  little  mound 
In  the  village  burial  ground, 
There  to  mingle  surely,  slowly, 
With  the  dust  of  proud  and  lowly, 
Then,  oh !  then  weep  not  for  me  : 
Smile  and  say :  Our  child  is  free  1 

When  upon  my  grave  shall  bloom 
Flowers  that  shed  their  sweet  perfume, 
Holy  incense  unto  God 
From  the  almost  conscious  sod  : 
When  the  meadow  lark  shall  build 
Yearly  in  the  neighboring  field, 
Little  children  play  and  sing, 
Whistles  blow,  and  school  bells  ring, 


STILL  WATER  PASTORALS 

While  the  busy  world  moves  on 
Peacefully  from  sire  to  son, 
Then,  oh !  then  weep  not  for  me : 
Say,  He  loved  us,  he  is  free ! 

Yes,  may  all  that  know  my  voice, 
When  they  pass  my  grave,  rejoice. 
May  no  word  or  deed  of  mine, 
Lingering  in  the  sweet  sunshine, 
Cast  a  shadow  o'er  that  spot 
Where  the  soul  returneth  not. 
When  the  evening  prayers  are  said 
When  the  world  in  sleep  is  laid, 
And  upon  my  headstone  white 
Stars  and  moon  look  down  at  night, 
Then,  oh !  then  weep  not  for  me : 
Rest,  dear  heart,  for  I  am  free. 

Yes,  when  we  from  flesh  are  freed, 
Then  we  shall  be  free  indeed. 
Earth's  old  heartaches  and  its  woes 
Come  not  where  the  spirit  goes. 
There  in  Beauty  and  in  Truth 
Palsied  age  renews  its  Youth; 
There,  forgiven,  the  defiled 
Finds  himself  once  more  a  child. 
[  18] 


TO  A  CROOKED  STICK 

All  the  lovely,  brave  and  kind 
One  another  There  shall  find. 
Soon,  mingling  with  that  Company, 
Thou  and  I,  O  friend !  will  be. 

Then  let  no  monumental  stone 
Mark  my  grave  when  I  am  gone, 
To  attract  with  show  and  fuss 
The  idle  and  the  curious. 
Enough,  if  they  who  loved  me  best 
Know  the  body's  place  of  rest, 
Or  the  green  grass  where  to  grow, 
Or,  where  to  fall,  the  silent  snow. 
A  life  of  kindness  build  and  give 
To  the  hearts  that  round  thee  live. 
If  there  Js  any  on  whose  head 
Praise  is  wasted,  'tis  the  dead. 


TO  A  CROOKED  STICK 

CROOKED  stick  against  the  dam, 
Caught,  as  on  this  world  I  am, 
Here,  perhaps,  from  some  great  distance, 
Onward  float  by  my  assistance, 
Down  the  foaming,  rushing  torrent, 
Helpless  in  the  eddying  current, 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Deaf  and  blind,  —  O  lifeless  thing,  — 

What  wild  river  thoughts  you  bring ! 

Pangs  and  longings  heave  my  breast 

While  I  watch  you,  without  rest 

Speeding  from  your  recent  capture, 

Up  and  down  as  if  in  rapture ! 

Now  not  visible,  and  then 

Rising  to  my  sight  again, 

Till  in  watery  distance  lost,  — 

Gone,  I  whisper,  to  be  toss'd 

On  some  bank  where  myriads 

Come  and  float  away  in  floods ; 

Or  swift  past  where  struggling  trees 

Strain,  in  water  to  their  knees  ; 

Giants  that  lean  and  sway  and  breast 

The  onward  elemental  quest ; 

Maybe  to  be  caught  a  while ; 

Then  released  for  many  a  mile ; 

Finally,  far  from  the  ocean, 

In  age'long'arrested  motion 

Buried  under  tons  of  slime, 

To  be  mud  thyself  in  time. 

Yet,  though  as  a  thing  forgot 

In  oblivion  thou  rot, 

Never  can  my  soul  believe 

But  thou  must  thy  quest  achieve ! 

t  *°] 


TO  A  CROOKED  STICK 

Brainless,  aimless  as  thou  seemest, 

Back  to  life  thou  ever  dreamest, 

And  must  yet  become  all  things 

That  have  legs  and  leaves  and  wings, 

As,  through  various  forms  endear'd, 

In  the  past  thou  hast  appear'd ; 

Or,  repulsive  as  a  sin, 

Shalt  be  as  thou  oft  hast  been. 

Onward,  seaward,  without  rest, — 

What  excitement  heaves  my  breast 

When  I  think  whence  earnest  thou : 

Whither  on  thy  long  course  now ! 

All  these  bones,  this  blood,  these  muscles, 

Wherewith  oft  my  spirit  wrestles, 

Come  and  go  and  leave  me  here, 

Still  triumphant  over  fear, 

An  immutable  bright  spirit, 

Far/predestin'd  by  the  Merit 

Of  that  Wondrous  Power  Benign 

That  about  this  soul  of  mine 

Built  this  body  and  sustains  it, 

Then,  in  Vaster  Mercy,  brains  it !  — 

As  in  mercy  I  erstwhile, 

With  a  wise  and  friendly  smile, 

Sent  yon  stick  upon  its  course 

Through  the  Starry  Universe ! 

[21    ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


DECEMBER  DAYS 

ERE  yet  these  grounds  and  buildings  loom  from  night, 

Or  when  by  the  waning  moon  kept  visible 

Earth  seems  to  anticipate  the  winter  dawn, 

And  cocks  are  crowing  near  and  far,  I  wake, 

Slowly  I  quit  my  dreams,  I  wake,  think,  will, 

And  leap  from  my  warm  bed  into  the  cold, 

Enter  the  house,  light  lamp,  build  fire,  strip,  bathe, 

Dashing  my  body  with  water  fresh  from  the  spring, 

Rub  with  coarse  towel  and  quickly  get  inside 

My  chilly  clothing,  by  warm  robust  health 

Soon  comfortable  ;  and  after  I  have  swallow'd 

A  few  deep  drafts  of  water  I  light  my  lantern 

And  go  out  under  the  stars,  in  the  dim  moon, 

Or  through  black  darkness,  while  the  frozen  world 

Is  very  still,  or  a  light  breeze,  a  wind,  a  storm 

Goes  blowing  around  buildings,  among  trees 

And  through  the  cold  sky  over  lonely  fields 

And  pastures.  To  the  barn  I  come  and  enter 

The  stable  door.  Cows,  horses,  calves  are  up 

Watching  for  me,  or  get  up  stretching  themselves 

As  I  come  in,  or  feel  too  comfortable 

To  move  until  they  hear  the  feedbox  open'd 

And  see  that  that  means  business.   Now  they  're  eating ; 

[22] 


DECEMBER  DAYS 

And  I  am  milking  now ;  and  having  milk'd 
And  done  the  chores,  I  come  in,  greet  my  family, 
Blithe,  serious,  or  as  my  changeful  mood 
May  happen,  help  my  frail  wife  at  her  tasks, 
Urge  or  admonish  the  children,  till  at  seven 
We  all  sit  down  to  breakfast.   I  read  the  Bible : 
We  bow  our  heads  ;  and  in  the  love  of  Christ 
Repeat  together  the  simple  prayer  He  taught 
His  Own  when  He  with  folk  like  us  on  Earth 
Lived  out  His  Father's  Message.  At  my  hand 
The  Holy  Book  I  like  to  feel  and  see 
Which  from  last  night  still  on  the  kitchen  table 
Lies  open  to  invite  my  soul.  And  so 
With  praise  and  gratitude  begins  my  day 
As  yesterday  was  ended,  and  as  the  morrows 
I  hope  to  meet  and  leave,  while  on  I  go 
To  face  my  God  and  render  strict  account 
Of  hours  and  years,  a  life  to  Christian  purpose 
Gladly  devoted  for  the  love  of  Him 
Who  died  for  me.  So  among  neighbors  and  friends 
We  walk  with  our  Creator  and  go  forth 
Sowing  as  we  would  reap,  our  tabernacles 
Aging  and  weakening  from  year  to  year, 
But  we,  with  elder  prophets  and  apostles 
And  all  the  upright  in  heart  who  were  supported 
And  strengthen'd  and  refresh'd,  we  shall  endure 
[  23  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

As  from  our  birth,  from  youth  to  age,  from  age 

To  Life  Eternal,  ever  rising  new 

And  going  forth  from  temporal  defeat 

Unto  eventual  victory,  through  sorrow 

Daily  with  joy  advancing  toward  That  City, 

That  Fair,  that  Holy  City  of  our  Father 

And  of  His  Christ,  That  City  which  hath  foundations, 

Whose  Builder  and  whose  Architect  is  God. 


ON  BEING  URGED  TO  PUBLISH 

WHAT  prophet  can  illuminate  God's  World  — 

What  seer  make  duty  clearer  —  or  what  priest, 

Standing  between  the  people  and  their  Maker, 

Darkeneth  not  their  faith,  if  in  that  heart 

Fine  reverence  be  wanting  ?  And  shall  Thy  poet, 

Making  a  traffic  of  his  secret  joy, 

Profane  thy  holy  sanctuaries,  Lord, 

Built  in  the  open  air,  where  all  thy  works 

In  their  simplicity  fulfill  unnoticed 

The  purpose  of  their  being  ?  As  these  live, 

So  let  me  live,  rooted  in  Thee  ;  so  die, 

Scattering  pregnant  seeds ;  nor  task  thy  birds, 

Nor  coax  thy  willing  winds,  nor  bribe  thy  seasons 

To  do  with  mine  as  they  from  the  beginning, 

True  to  their  old  appointed  tasks,  have  done. 


TO  A  BLOODROOT  FLOWER 


AS  DAY,   SO  SPRING  RETURNS 

As  day,  so  Spring  returns ;  as  Spring,  so  Life ; 

As  Life,  so  Love  ;  as  Love,  so  Paradise. 

And  He  Who  sanctifieth  man  and  wife 

Sustains  this  homesick  heart,  these  longing  eyes, 

This  restless  mind,  this  throbbing  frame  of  dust, 

With  holy  thoughts  of  Heaven,  whither,  I  trust, 

By  His  dear  grace,  through  conscious  word  and  act, 

My  faltering  footsteps  ever  to  direct : 

Happy  at  how  much  cause  for  Hope  there  is 

Beyond  what  we  could  comprehend  if  told. 

What  Knowledge  to  the  Light  will  There  unfold, 

When  we  and  all  we  see  and  love  are  His ! 

While  our  bright  aspirations,  far /foreseeing, 

Rest  still  in  God's  Great  Heart,  content  with  Instant  Being. 

TO  A  BLOODROOT  FLOWER 

BLOODROOT  in  the  leafless  wood, 
Companion  of  gray  Solitude, 
When  the  birds  begin  to  sing, 
Thou,  frail  welcomer  of  Spring, 
Dost  thy  white'ray'd  star  unfold, 
With  its  seedheart  of  green'gold, 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

And  remindest  us  how  Faith 
Blooms  victorious  over  Death. 

Spring  now  from  her  slumber  waketh, 
And  unto  each  lover  speaketh, 
Breathing  through  her  flowers  and  birds 
Joy  too  deep  for  human  words, 
Knowledge  that  doth  most  abound 
Where,  unmarr'd,  God's  works  are  found  ; 
For  by  every  bosom  noble 
God  is  found  without  much  trouble. 

Welcome,  shy  and  fragile  flower, 
And  though  cold  and  brief  thine  hour, 
May  thy  holy  message  given 
Brighten  Earth  with  news  from  Heaven, 
And  awake  in  many  a  heart 
Longings  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Aspirations  pure  and  good, 
Hopes  by  angels  understood. 

As  thy  petals  not  in  vain 
Brave  the  long  and  cheerless  rain, 
So  when  we  as  thou  some  day 
From  the  cold  earth  fade  away, 

[26] 


IN  FEW  WORDS 

Having  here  fulfill'd  our  mission, 
May  we  leave  in  Earth's  possession 
Seeds  of  Love,  matured  like  thine, 
Humbly,  sweetly,  rain  or  shine. 


IN  FEW  WORDS 

A  BLESSING  is  a  curse, 

If  it  make  a  bad  man  worse ; 

And  the  reverse : 

A  fall  may  prove  a  fortunate  matter, 

If  it  make  a  good  man  better ; 

To  be  terse, 

God  does  not  flatter ; 

But  whether  the  mind  be  deep  or  shallow 

Plows  deep,  so  deepens, 

Or  lets  lie  fallow. 

Who  wants  to  be 

A  neglected  lea 

All  overgrown  with  wormwood  and  mallow  ? 

Wherefore,  if  thou  be  doing  His  will, 

Be  still ; 

And  on  every  occasion 

Accept  as  a  divine  persuasion 

Whatever  happens. 

An  hard  saying? 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Yes; 

But  without  evasion 

Hear  it ! 

Truth  is  no  idle  guess : 

He  who,  obeying, 

Learns  to  revere  it 

Finds  no  truth  truer 

Pack'd  in  words  fewer : 

Do,  and  thou  shalt  know  the  Will: 

Then,  and  not  until. 


FINALE 

THE  golden/winged  hours, 
The  silvery  summer  showers, 
Fairies  and  flowers, 

Birds,  clouds,  rainbows  and  happy  minutes 
Pass  like  music,  swiftly, 
As  when  maidens  deftly 
Play  laughter  and  tears  upon  their  spinets. 
But  the  Day  will  come 
When  the  Poet  will  go  Home 
And  a  deathless  Life  assume, 
Where  Beauty  lives  forever, 
And  the  gentle  Springtime  never, 
Never  will  grow  hot ; 
[28] 


FINALE 

And  the  winter  cometh  not ; 

Nor  cares  nor  weariness  call  away 

From  fadeless  flowers ;  nor  night  nor  day 

Bring  afflictions,  which  we  bear 

Meekly,  because  we  must : 

Must  learn  our  Father's  Life  to  share, 

To  love  Him  and  to  trust. 

0  Joy  and  Sorrow !  mutual  pair, 

Ye  teach  us  more  than  we  're  aware. 

So  let  me  live,  so  let  me  die, 
Where  I  am,  that  by  and  by 
Where  I  go 

1  may  know 

More  than  little  flowers  teach ; 
Truths  that  now  I  cannot  reach ; 
Beauty  see  that  comes  not  nigh 
The  window  of  man's  wondering  eye  ; 
Join  in  Music  which  for  sound 
Cannot  in  this  world  be  found : 
Not  faint,  not  far,  but  clear, 
Such  as  in  my  dreams  I  hear, 
Wonderful  beyond  expression, 
My  Desire,  my  Hope,  my  Passion ! 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Everywhere, 

In  the  air, 

In  the  earth  and  stars  and  sea, 

All  unite, 

Agony  and  delight, 

Sounds,  colors,  forms,  to  tell 

What  my  Lord  would  have  me  do, 

What  my  Lord  would  have  me  be. 

So,  merry  birds,  my  thanks  to  you : 

All  you  say,  I  know,  is  true. 

And  pensive  flowers,  well  indeed 

You  speak,  I  understand  you  well. 

If,  when  your  blooms  are  gone  to  seed, 

I  to  these  happy  fields  return, 

Of  each  dead  stalk  and  trampled  weed 

Oh !  may  I  deeper  lessons  learn 

Than  in  your  freshness  I  discern, 

As  deeper,  deeper  grows  my  need. 


TO  JANE  REECE,  PHOTOGRAPHER 


TO  JANE  REECE,  PHOTOGRAPHER 


THE  STUDIOS  PHOTOGRAPHIC 

BY  every  light,  in  every  pose, 

In  God's  Eternal  Studios, 

The  human  heart,  with  frown  or  laugh, 

Is  posing  for  its  photograph. 

Sweet  smile ;  sad,  serious  expression ; 

Honor  triumphant  over  passion : 

Oh !  wonderful  are  the  effects 

He  through  Truth's  living  lens  detects, 

As,  instant,  watchful  for  the  best, 

Behind  the  curtain  without  rest, 

In  loving  eagerness  He  waits 

To  catch  our  souls  on  deathless  plates ! 

Fear  not  the  darkness  that  surrounds 
Thy  character.   On  dark  backgrounds, 
With  light  from  Heaven  in  thy  face, 
What  tones  He  gets  !  With  what  fine  grace 
He  molds  and  modulates  and  blends 
The  history  efface  and  hands : 
[33] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Revealing  through  what  grief  and  bliss 
The  spirit  came  to  look  like  this ! 
To  look  like  Him  Who  long  ago 
For  His  good  pleasure  plann'd  it  so, 
That  He  in  His  Eternal  Home 
Might  treasure  them  in  Time  to  Come ! 

Through  unknown  fortunes  yet  to  be, 
Beneath  the  stars,  beside  the  sea, 
Between  the  birthday  and  the  grave, 
Teaching  the  tender  heart  be  brave, 
He  woos  our  better  from  our  worse, 
The  Artist  of  the  Universe  ! 
The  undiscouraged  Connoisseur 
Of  priceless  human  character ! 
The  glory  of  Whose  presence  fills 
With  master  might  the  steadfast  hills ! 
While  deep  within  our  souls  it  glows 
From  all  His  starry  studios ! 

ii 

VOICE  musical  with  sacred  joy  and  pain, 
Eyes  in  whose  merriment  the  more  I  look 
Deeper  I  see  as  page  by  page  the  book 
Reveals  the  heroine :  deft  hand,  tired  brain, 
[  34] 


THE  STUDIOS  PHOTOGRAPHIC 

Serving  a  traffic  world  without  disdain,  — 
For  she  hath  caught  the  secret  of  the  brook 
Through  somber  fields  by  many  a  shadowy  nook 
Meandering  where  clouds  roll  vast  with  rain,  — 

O  gently  penetrating  tender  heart 
Intuitive,  by  spiritual  gift 
Outseeing  masculine  interpreters ! 

Thou  showest  us  by  more  than  practiced  art 
Our  starlit  spirits,  as  when  night'clouds  rift, 
And  we  are  found  among  God's  worshipers. 

in 

NEVER  hard  light  full  on  thy  subject  streaming 

Our  carnal  cruelly  exaggerates ; 

But  as  a  painter  with  himself  debates, 

And  chooseth  values  by  instinctive  scheming, 
Thou  makest  us  appear  as  if  caught  dreaming : 

The  body  thinks !  The  Furies  and  the  Fates 

Look  from  his  eyes  who  in  thy  presence  waits !. 

A  pose  for  thee  is  no  self'conscious  seeming. 
I  marvel  how,  unto  the  human  thought 

Summon'd,  the  human  character,  responding^ 

Lives  awfully  recorded  thus  in  matter  ! 
I  marvel  what  the  human  mind  hath  wrought ! 

But  more  I  marvel  What  and  how  astounding 

That  Power  Which  works  through  man  and  cannot  flatter ! 

[35] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

IV 

TRUE  artists  are  true  lovers  of  the  True. 
Though  sadly  supersensitive  to  stings, 
Grieving  for  slights,  and  letting  unkind  things 
Thoughtlessly  spoken  wound  them  through  and  through, 

They  still  to  what  the  world  may  say  and  do 
Temper  their  wits,  and  with  defiant  flings 
Compel  unspeakable  joy !  like  warrior  kings 
Foresworn  on  Book  to  conquer  and  subdue. 

So  thou  and  I,  frail  woman  and  strong  man, 
Through  agony  go  smiling  to  endure. 
Defeated,  we  acknowledge  no  defeat ! 

Out  of  our  windblown  ashes,  with  hope's  plan, 
And  love's  fond  faith  in  love  no  whit  less  sure, 
We  rise  to  life,  and  find  even  sorrow  sweet.  , 

v 

ARTHUR,  MY  SON 

ARTHUR,  my  son,  to  manhood  now  aspiring, 

What  schemes  of  high  emprise  fill  thy  young  head 
And  urge  thee  onward !  Ah,  what  deeds  of  dread 
Thine  inexperienced  eager  heart  are  firing ! 

What  fond  beliefs  beyond  utmost  desiring 
Impel  thy  play !  What  armies  hast  thou  led 

[36] 


PICTURES  NOT  LIFE 

Over  what  battlefields,  and  hast  left  dead 

How  many,  while  thy  fame  the  stars  are  choiring ! 

0  little  boy  becoming  a  big  youth, 
Only  to  be  a  little  man  like  us, 

Who  once  were  growing  large  and  fine  like  you ! 

1  wonder  which  small  segment  of  the  Truth, 

In  thy  brief  life  at  most,  shall  not  nonplus 

That  dreaming  head,  but  shall,  please  God,  come  true ! 

VI 
PICTURES  NOT  LIFE 

THE  life,  the  throbbing  life,  aglow  with  health, 
In  look,  speech,  toil,  tears,  laughter  manifesting 
The  imminent  Creator,  praying,  jesting,  — 
An  instrument  responsive  with  a  wealth 

Of  sweet  harmonious  moods,  whereon  by  stealth 
An  unseen  Master  plays !  Who,  by  arresting 
Attention  on  the  instant,  and  suggesting 
Of  music's  indivisible  commonwealth 

One  rare  elusive  chord,  can  through  the  eye 
Unto  the  soul  translate  and  amplify 
And  clothe  with  life  and  bring  back  warm  again 

That  fleeting  moment  in  this  fixed  smile, 
Or  this  expression,  characteristic  then, 
But  perish'd  now,  our  sad  hearts  to  beguile  ? 


"I  MARVEL" 


"I  MARVEL 


IMMINENCE 

I  MARVEL  not  that  I  did  marvel  much ; 

For  still  I  marvel  more  the  more  I  live, 
To  find  my  God  so  near  that  I  can  touch 

His  garments,  and  with  heart  grown  sensitive 
Can  know  His  will  and  do  it  and  forgive 

And  feel  forgiven  and  in  Him  be  held 
Safe  above  all  that  I  would  fain  outlive, 

Unto  His  Heavenly  Kingdom  uncompel'd ! 
Wherefore  in  praise  I  will  not  be  excel'd ! 

But  ever  sing  with  grateful  voice  of  gladness  ! 
Though  in  this  life  much  cause  have  I  beheld 

For  overwhelming  sorrow.  Nay,  't  were  madness 
Not  to  rejoice  in  Thee,  Thou  wondrous  Being, 
Whom  Christ'anointed  eyes  are  ever  clearer  seeing ! 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 
ii 

EXALTATION 

REJOICE  with  wonder,  O  my  soul,  rejoice ! 

And  you,  ye  starry  heavens,  thou  vast  hush, 
That  art  so  far  thou  hast  for  us  no  voice, 

Lend  me  your  silent  rapture  !  With  a  rush 
Come,  ye  aeolian  winds  that  bring  the  blush 

Of  holy  morning  to  the  eastern  sky ! 
And  you,  ye  springs  and  fountains  that  forth  gush 

To  seek  the  sea !  Sweet  flowers  that  smile  and  die, 
And  O,  thou  glorious  majesty  on  high, 

Which  art  the  life  of  all  this  beauteous  Earth ! 
Come  and  possess  me  as  the  birds  that  fly, 

And  lift  my  being  into  vocal  birth, 
Deep  on  wide  wings  ascending,  till  I  tell 
The  glory  of  our  God,  that  ye  have  told  so  well ! 


[42] 


HUMILITY 
in 

HUMILITY 

I  CANNOT  praise  Thee,  Father,  as  I  would. 

I  am  Thy  child  ;  Thou  dost  not  need  my  praise. 
A  contrite  spirit  is  best  understood 

Between  Thee  and  my  weakness.  All  my  ways 
To  Thee  are  known.  Thy  mercies  wide  amaze 

My  understanding.  I  am  very  far 
From  all  I  would  be  ;  and  my  wasted  days 

Would  ruin  all  my  happiness,  and  mar 
With  many  a  doubt  the  glad  sweet  days  that  are ; 

But  Thou  dost  not  remember  them :  Thou  leadest 
Forward  my  willing  feet,  healest  the  scar 

Upon  my  soul,  and  at  Thy  table  feedest 
Thine  awkward  fumbling  child,  who  in  Thy  face 
Beholdeth  no  reproach,  but  tenderest  love  and  grace. 


GOD  BUILT  CREATION 


GOD  BUILT  CREATION 

GOD  built  Creation 
Boundless  as  Heaven, 
Broader  than  Science, 
Deeper  than  Hell! 
Made  Him  a  Nation 
Of  sinners  forgiven, 
Fill'd  with  defiance, 
Fierce  to  do  well! 
O  boundless  Creation ! 
Ah,  limited  Hell! 

Angels  assembled 
Out  of  low  creatures, 
Lower  than  lowest, 

Foul  beneath  shame ! 
God  they  resembled 

In  heart'haunting  features: 
The  swiftest,  the  slowest, 

All  started,  all  came! 
O  sinless  Assembly ! 
Ah,  fortunate  shame ! 

God  made  an  Eagle, 
Wild,  free  and  daring, 

[47] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Prism'eyed,  vocal, 

Heart  of  a  Dove  : 
Domestic  with  regal 
Combining,  declaring, 
Cosmic  with  local, 

Fierce  passion  with  love  ! 
O  anguishing  Eagle ! 
Ah,  rapturous  Dove ! 

God  made  Music  human, 
Kingly,  ambitious, 

All  eyes,  touch,  hearing, 

Angelical  voice ! 
Manbeast  born  of  woman, 
Aggressively  gracious, 
Composite,  forthfaring, 

Oh,  weep  and  rejoice  ! 
Ah,  sorrowful  Poet ! 
O  confident  Voice ! 


MIDSUMMER  SADNESS 

PIPE  on,  sweet  birds,  forget  not  your  glad  tune  ; 
Though  sad  hearts  hear  it  now,  glad  hearts  will  soon. 
Blow  freshly  still,  soft  breezes,  and  waft  down 
To  all  the  black  and  noisome  shops  in  town 

[48] 


LIBERTY 

Our  kind  Creator's  message  to  the  poor, 
Of  fragrant  flowers  that  wait  on  every  shore, 
Where  gurgling  brooks  foam  fast  to  Jakes  and  seas, 
And  grasses  deep  invite  to  noble  ease. 
Here  no  employer  cold,  nor  servile  clerk, 
Turns  out  the  faithful  father  from  his  work, 
Nor  maiden  hears  lust's  awful  secret  threat, 
Nor  fears  on  every  hand  the  silken  net ; 
But  starving  souls,  since  souls  do  starve,  may  lie 
Beneath  God's  trees,  and  look  up  at  the  sky, 
And  feel  with  each  tired  breath  that  ebbs  away 
The  benediction  of  a  better  day. 

LIBERTY 

IN  dark  cities,  frightful  cities, 
Ugly,  slunvcursed,  cruel  cities, 

Where  my  innocents  are  dying, 
Whom  the  subtle  tyrant  pities, 

Throng'd  in  loath'd  rooms,  hot,  unhealthy, 
Driven  by  the  proud  and  wealthy, 

Toil  my  children,  my  pale  children, 
With  their  thoughts  deprav'd  and  filthy. 

But  I  love  them,  ah,  I  love  them, 
They  are  noble,  time  shall  prove  them, 
[49] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

They  shall  rise  up  unresentfal, 
And  forgive  the  fools  that  drove  them 

I  am  moving  from  the  meadows 
Toward  the  sad/eyed  babes  and  widows 

In  great  cities  where  cathedrals 
Cast  their  sacrilegious  shadows. 

I  am  waking,  I  am  waking 
In  the  temples  hot  and  aching, 

In  the  throbbing  cells  of  reason 
Where  the  engine  heart  is  shaking. 

I  can  feel  the  thrill  of  nations 
Toiling  at  dull  occupations, 

Sad  and  beautiful  and  beating 
With  unconscious  expectations. 

I  am  rising,  I  am  growing, 

I  'm  the  wondrous  flower  that 's  blowing 

In  the  mock'artistic  cities, 
Where  the  rich  crowd  dwells  unknowing. 

I  the  mighty,  the  victorious, 
I  the  beautiful,  the  glorious, 

I  will  lift  my  poor  and  teach  them, 
I  will  make  them  sweet  and  serious. 

[50] 


LIBERTY 

In  the  future,  ah,  the  future, 

How  their  souls  will  grow  in  stature ! 

How  their  smiles  will  beam  with  brightness 
At  the  knowledge  of  their  nature  ! 

Strong  in  love  sincere  and  holy, 
Burying  each  ancient  folly, 

They  shall  turn  their  faces  onward 
With  a  reverence  deep  and  lowly. 

I  will  teach  them,  I  will  guide  them, 
Strife  shall  never  more  divide  them, 

They  shall  bring  forth  all  their  virtues 
Like  glad  children,  and  not  hide  them. 

And  their  knowledge,  aye,  their  knowledge, 
Not  to'day  in  sect  nor  college 

Is  the  secret  of  their  greatness 
Which  shall  triumph  o'er  this  dull  age. 

Free,  undriven,  they  shall  follow, 
Not  your  vain  pretenses  hollow, 

But  the  harrow  on  the  hillside, 
And  the  heaving  ocean  billow. 

Like  this  lily's  petals  folden 

O'er  her  heart  perfum'd  and  golden, 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

As  she  floats  in  mirror'd  landscape, 
Fearing  not,  to  none  beholden,  — 

Yonder  swallows,  dipping,  splashing, 
Off  like  winged  sunlight  flashing,  — 

Bees  that  busily  in  clover 
Sip  Heaven's  dew,  —  these  winds  refreshing, 

That  from  out  the  morning  stillness 
Bring  thee  such  calm  sense  of  realness 
From  the  great  unknown  Forever, 
Like  a  dream  of  Heaven  in  illness,  — 

So  my  children,  changed  and  healthy, 
All  united  and  all  wealthy, 

So  my  children,  my  poor  children, 
Rising  from  their  rags  so  filthy, 

Frank,  intelligent  and  human, 
Will  become  free  men  and  women 

Of  a  nation  born  of  nations, 
With  one  Code,  one  Life  in  common. 

Bountiful  to  greet  their  coming, 
Hills  and  deserts  will  be  blooming : 

All  the  labor  of  all  ages 
Come  to  fruit,  for  their  assuming. 

[52] 


THE  FLIGHT  IN  THE  NIGHT 

In  yon  deeps,  at  night  resplendent, 
With  calm  trustfulness  transcendent, 

They  will  follow  Truth  and  Beauty, 
Lovers  all,  each  independent. 

Till  some  time,  like  allegory 
Vast,  undream'd,  the  human  story 
Told  shall  be  :  but  out  beyond  it 
Scenes  of  Love  untransitory, 

Not  unlike  this  present  seeming, 
Yet  divine  beyond  all  dreaming, 

Will  restore  each  soul  immortal 
Where  the  Sun  of  Life  is  streaming. 

They  are  thinking.  I  am  looking 
From  their  dull  eyes,  rising,  choking 

In  their  hungry  throats ;  and  hearken : 
At  your  door  I  'm  knocking,  knocking. 


THE  FLIGHT  IN  THE  NIGHT 

AGE  of  rubbish,  passing,  passing, 
Age  of  servile  acquiescing, 
Age  of  evil,  age  of  liars,  — 
Hurry,  hurry,  feed  the  fires  ! 
[53] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Sweating,  sighing,  bleeding,  burning, 
Forward,  on  the  future  yearning, 
Slowly,  slowly  rise  the  masses 
As  the  system  passes,  passes ! 

Upward,  onward,  outward,  Godward, 
Eyes  aflame,  with  many  a  loud  word, 
Written,  spoken,  —  singing,  singing, 
Whistles  blowing,  steeples  ringing ! 

Join  the  masses  !  Join  the  masses ! 
Sinking  are  the  cliques  and  classes ! 
Sinking,  sinking,  doom'd  and  dying,  — 
See  the  toilers  flying,  flying! 

Quit  the  follies,  —  follow,  follow,  — 
All  your  tricks  are  hack'd  and  hollow ! 
Leave  false  hopes  ere  all  be  gone,  — 
Hurry,  hurry,  hurry  on ! 

Lo !  we're  halfway  up  the  mountains  : 
Prairies,  homesteads,  fields  and  fountains, 
What  are  all  these  scenes  we're  seeing, 
On  to  which  we  're  fleeing,  fleeing  ! 

Misty  splendors  of  the  morning, 
Waters,  vales,  and  hills  adorning ! 
[54] 


DUST  OF   OLD  DAYS 

Far  behind  the  low  fires  glimmer 
Where  the  past  grows  dimmer,  dimmer. 

Socialism!  Socialism! 
Bore  the  hills  and  bridge  the  chasm ! 
On,  ye  living !  Cheer  ye  dying ! 
See  the  toilers  flying,  flying! 

Wake  and  love,  ye  proud,  oh,  waken ! 
Forward,  lest  ye  be  forsaken ! 
Give  your  wealth,  and  leave  your  worry ! 
Buy  ye  wings,  and  hurry,  hurry ! 

DUST  OF  OLD  DAYS 

OLD  days  remember sd 

Bring  back  their  sadness. 
Mountains  dark'timber'd, 

As  the  sun  sinks, 
Throw  their  deep  shadows 

Over  Earth's  gladness. 
Dark  are  the  meadows 

When  the  heart  thinks. 

Dear  are  old  pictures  : 
Dearer  the  saddest. 
[55  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Life's  sweetest  mixtures 

Taste  of  the  tears. 
Harsh  things  and  strange  things 

Come  to  the  gladdest ; 
Yet  who  would  change  things, 

Weighing  the  years? 

Ah,  I  would  change  things  ! 

Not  for  my  own  life. 
I  would  arrange  things 

For  all  men's  good. 
I  would  recover 

Men  from  their  lone  strife ! 
I  am  the  lover 

Of  noblehood ! 

TO  A  SEAGULL 

BIRD  of  the  stormy  wing, 
Out  o'er  the  flying  sea ! 

What  is  the  news  you  bring? 
I,  too,  am  wild  like  thee  ! 

I,  too,  can  scream  and  sing 
Free!  Free!   Free! 

Bird  of  the  rocky  home, 
Swept  by  the  flying  mist, 
[56] 


WAR  BREAKS  OUT  IN  EUROPE 

Why  do  you  scream  and  roam? 

Why  seek  ye  not  your  nest  ? 
Lo,  the  night  cranes  are  come : 

Rest.  Rest.  Rest. 

Over  the  rolling  tide 

Home  to  my  mate  I  go  : 

Little  ones  merryeyed 

Wait  for  me  now  I  know, 

There  by  my  fireside ! 
Row  !  Row !  Row  ! 


WAR  BREAKS  OUT  IN  EUROPE,  AUGUST, 


WHEN  from  the  curious  excited  throngs, 
A  man  of  thoughtful  care,  I  hide  my  face, 
And  in  the  ear  of  God  make  simple  songs 
To  please  my  unspoiPd  heart  and  with  wild  grace 

Immortalize  our  virtues,  time  and  place 

Bind  me  no  more  :  for  then  my  soul  belongs 
To  other  scenes  than  these,  where  nothing  base 
Disturbs  the  tranquil  mind,  nor  hint  of  wrongs 

Upon  the  spiritual  sense  intrudes  ; 

But  sin  and  strife  cire  as  bad  dreams  forgot  ; 
And  darkest  sorrows  and  most  bitter  moods 
[57] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Rise  glorified,  or  vanish  into  naught. 

Then  do  I  see,  as  though  my  cares  were  wings, 
The  inevitable  outcome  of  all  things. 

ii 

WAR  will  not  always  plague  the  sure  advance 
Of  calm  intelligent  Hope  and  gentle  Peace. 
Can  man  delay  Creation  ?  Is  there  chance 
With  the  Almighty  ?  Think !  For  war  must  cease,  — 

Must  pass  from  Heaven's  development  in  man, 
As  God  foreknew  from  the  beginning,  —  He 
Who  waxt  not  old  with  time,  nor  ever  ran 
Before  His  purpose,  nor  forgot  to  be, 

Upon  each  instant  of  eternal  ages, 

The  Presence  of  All  Good  that  was  and  is 
And  shall  be  :  for  the  Universe  is  His : 

He  is  the  Universe !  And  He  presages 

His  Own  advent  and  triumph,  long  foretold 
In  every  star  that  wondering  seers  behold. 

RHEIMS 

IN  rapt  imagination  many  times 

I  Ve  stood  and  watch'd  and  worship'd  in  thy  streets, 
Where  bursting  steel  shrieks  death,  and  loud  hoof  beats 
Of  cavalry  instead  of  evening  chimes 

[58] 


THE  ARROW-HEAD 

Are  heard,  O  burnt  and  desecrated  Rheims ! 
Christ's  fairest  monument  no  longer  greets 
The  beautyloving  eye,  nor  proudly  meets 
Man's  highest  expectation  !  The  soul  climbs 

To  heights  like  this  in  carved  stone  no  more. 
Imperious  and  irreverent  is  man : 
Busy  with  armies  and  material  schemes, 

Kings  have  their  dark  way  with  him  as  of  yore. 
He  spares  to  God  what  little  time  he  can 
From  building  mortal  power  on  Love's  demolish'd 
dreams. 

THE  ARROW-HEAD 

LATE  I  was  toiling  through  the  fields 

Behind  the  weary  harrow, 
When  down  in  the  torn  and  dizzy  soil 

J  spied  this  Indian  arrow ! 
I  stopp'd  the  team,  went  back  and  found  it, 
And  wove  my  usual  dreams  around  it. 

It  is  an  ugly  thing  to  prize, 

With  its  thirsty,  ragged  edges ; 
And  many  a  brow  of  glittering  eyes 

Has  aim'd  it  from  the  sedges. 
I  see  in  the  dense  twilight  wood 
A  warrior  lying  where  he  stood. 
[59] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

But  that  was  tribe  and  tribe  ago. 

The  very  centuries  have  forgotten. 
Ancient  rivers  have  ceas'd  to  flow ; 

And  granite  rocks  lie  old  and  rotten, 
Bird'douds,  vast  herds  of  mastodon, 
Moundbuilders,  bison,  all  are  gone. 

Still  hard  as  God's  eternal  truth, 
This  rude  work  of  a  savage  mason 

Down  from  the  wild  dawn  of  our  youth 
Comes  with  its  silent  lesson  — 

Comes  with  its  promise  and  its  warning 

Out  of  the  darkness  of  the  morning. 

And  as  I  stood  in  that  wide  field, 

That  in  the  Spring  would  grow  and  ripen, 
I  saw  the  day  when  men  shall  yield 

To  patient  God.  For  it  shall  happen 
That  man  to  man  shall  stand  reveaPd : 

And  in  his  hand  will  be  no  weapon. 


SONNETS  TO  H.  L.  H. 


SONNETS  TO  H.  L.  H. 


OF  HIS  APPROPRIATE   ENTITY 

THERE  are  as  many  ways  as  there  are  men ; 

And  each  man's  way  is  right  to  him  alone. 

Let  Walt  be  Walt,  Tennyson  Tennyson ; 

Be  thou  thyself;  and  let  me  ply  my  pen 
In  my  own  simple  manner  where  and  when 

And  in  what  cause  I  will.  Strike  the  key  tone ! 

What  pitch  were  truest  shall  in  time  be  shown 

But  ah,  too  late  !   Try  not  that  note  again. 
Nature  ascends  in  circles  non'reentrant, 

By  perturbations  never  suffer'd  twice 

To  be  the  same,  and  we  perforce  obey 
The  slightly  varying  change,  eccentric,  centrant, 

Each  balanced  personality  held  nice 

Within  the  sacred  limits  of  free  play. 


[63] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 
II 

HIS  NOBLE  BIRTH 

IMMENSE  the  pride  I  through  my  sire  inherit 
From  humble  high  ancestry  without  taint ; 
While  from  my  mother,  she  herself  a  saint 
Of  unecclesiastical  free  spirit, 

I  gather  to  my  songs  the  simple  merit 
Of  quiet  Quakers  innocently  quaint, 
And  mind  and  soul  in  passionate  restraint, 
I  read  their  Sacred  Book  and  still  revere  it. 

Oh !  tell  me  not  such  worthy  pioneers 

Were  native  but  to  wild  monotonous  woods. 
Well  might  we  learn  to'day  their  lesson  deep, 

Wrung  from  snaiTd  soil  and  stain'd  with  penitent  tears, 
Alone  with  God  in  those  vast  solitudes, 
Where  the  bent  bones  of  our  forefathers  sleep. 

HI 

HIS  WARY  RESTLESSNESS 

I  AM  as  hard  to  hold  as  some  wild  being  ! 

Shy  creature  of  these  rivers  and  these  woods, 
Now  I  invite  and  now  1  flee  my  moods, 
Beside  myself  with  relishing  and  fleeing ! 


HIS  AUSTERE  SUBMISSION 

All  touch,  all  ears,  all  scent,  all  taste,  all  seeing, 
United  all  in  a  quick  multitude 
Of  governed  lust,  ungovernable  good, 
Agreements  calm  amidst  fierce  disagreeing ! 

I  would  not  that  one  other  soul  alive 
Should  be  like  me,  nor  I  like  any  other. 
One  is  enough  of  each,  more  were  too  many. 

For  every  restful  thought  I  still  must  strive 

As  for  existence,  must  escape  or  smother  ! 
Must  think  with  angels,  though  I  seem  not  any. 


IV 

HIS  AUSTERE   SUBMISSION 

To  proud  remote  obscurity  I  cling. 

I  dare  not  condescend  from  high  hauteur 
Which  guards  my  meditations,  lest  I  err 
From  primitive  simplicity  and  bring 

Change  o'er  the  spirit  of  the  songs  I  sing. 
Susceptible  is  my  strong  heart  to  stir 
With  passion !  Whence  I  peaceably  prefer 
Aloof  to  hold  my  course  unwavering. 

Held  in  an  awful  sense  of  isolation 
Is  he  who  must  interpret  for  all  time 
The  Spirit  of  God's  Law  epitomized 
[65  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

In  private  sympathy  with  all  Creation. 
A  loneliness  beneficent,  sublime, 
Uplifts  him,  charms  his  words,  and  makes  them  prized. 


HIS  ONE  PURPOSE 

FORGIVE  if  my  too  child' wise  contemplation 

Exclusive  seem  of  lore  that  calls  me  down 

From  primal  knowledge.  Each  must  guard  his  own. 

Each  builder  must  reject  without  evasion, 
Must  choose  and  lift  on  every  occasion 

By  every  means,  from  strength  to  strength,  one  stone 

Upon  another,  till  he  stand  foil  grown 

Upon  his  monument  and  tell  his  vision  ! 
Let  each  by  his  intuitive  design 

Build  his  own  sacred  temple  like  a  master ! 

Time  shall  decide  which  were  most  fit  to  stand. 
It  may  be  yours ;  perhaps  it  shall  be  mine ; 

It  may  be  both  should  have  been  simpler,  vaster. 

Build  boldly,  as  the  Architect  hath  plann'd. 


[66] 


HIS  FRANK  SELF-EXPRESSION 

VI 
HIS   THINKING 

I  DARE  not  give  o'ermuch  consideration 

To  what  promotes  not  peace.  My  mind  selects 

Out  of  a  host  of  scientific  facts, 

And  from  all  human  life,  its  education, 

To  nurture  wisdom  and  avoid  vexation, 

Knowing  each  chosen  thought  acts  and  reacts 
Through  and  upon  the  bliss  which  it  protects 
From  wasteful  and  irreverent  invasion. 

Within  throng'd  and  besieged  ;  defiled  without : 
Few  are  admitted  to  the  inner  court, 
And  to  the  holiest  of  holies  none. 

Hence,  from  the  world  there  entereth  no  doubt 
To  violate  the  altar  of  my  heart, 
However  I  may  seem  to  be  undone. 

VII 
HIS  FRANK  SELF'EXPRESSION 

OBSCURE  and  down  and  out  as  the  world  goes, 
I  know  I  am  a  seer  in  plain  disguise, 
Living  above  ambition,  for  a  prize 
Which  angels  see,  but  no  man  living  knows, 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

And  few  have  ever  cared  for.  I  compose 
Out  of  my  unapplauded  sacrifice 
An  immortality  which  proves  me  wise, 
And  makes  my  life  acceptable  with  those 

Who  shall  hereafter  understand  its  aim. 

For  I  who  seem  to  muse  of  self  am  singing 
The  sacred  song  given  me  to  impart, 

The  song  that  was  born  in  me.   I  disclaim 

Fictitious  verse,  and  am  through  sorrow  bringing 
Unto  my  people  all  I  have,  my  heart. 


VIII 
HIS  JOYOUS   ESCAPE 

As  blood  from  out  my  aching  heart  God  wrings 
These  passionate  proud  numbers.  A  fine  pleasure 
Throbs  in  each  willing  and  submissive  measure, 
Felt  but  by  me,  unless  glad  reader  brings 

A  chasten'd,  contrite  and  wise  love  that  sings 
Response  to  noble  utterance.  Yon  deep  azure 
Views  its  benevolent  profound  composure 
In  any  little  brook  whose  murmurings 

Make  a  melodious  chime  of  crystal  sighing 
In  tones  kaleidoscopic  as  it  flows, 
Dashing  its  life  in  prisms  over  the  gravel, 
[68] 


ON  HIS  GENIUS 

Through  tangled  roots,  down  rocks,  past  the  wild  rose, 
And  on,  a  river,  out  to  sea,  where  travel 
The  stately  ships  before  the  free  winds  flying. 


IX 
ON   HIS   GENIUS 

LET  all  men  absolutely  and  eternally 

Be  their  best  selves  as  they,  not  others,  see  it. 

If  thou  desirest  to  be  something,  be  it. 

Thou  shalt  not  wait ;  but  with  the  Earth  diurnally 
Shalt  thou  about  God's  business  go,  supernally 

Crown'd  with  success,  for  God  shall  guarantee  it. 

Doth  nearer  duty  hold  thee  ?  Do  not  flee  it : 

Love  honor  first,  else  must  thou  fail  infernally. 
Genius  original  is  plain  and  old 

And  common  as  the  rocks  beneath  thy  feet ; 

Skydeep,  child' wise,  fresh  as  this  autumn  air. 
See  how  these  frostbit  leaves  blush  red  and  gold. 

Approaching  Winter  turns  this  tree's  blood  sweet. 

Next  Summer's  shade  dreams  in  these  boughs  now  bare. 


[69  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


HIS   CHARACTER 

THY  bedrock  honest  will,  both  speech  and  hand, 
Inspires  just  men's  considerate  respect. 
Wealth,  fame,  position,  studiously  neglect : 
Honor  embraces  all.  Ocean,  sky,  land, 

Sunshine  and  clouds,  immensity,  sea/sand, 

Systems  of  stars  that  have  been  rear'd  and  wreck'd, 
With  worlds  that  intimately  now  affect 
Thought  with  sublime  suggestion  still  and  grand, 

All  are  upheld  on  honor ;  on  honor  all 

Must  through  destruction  ever  be  brought  round 
Continuous  as  He  Whose  Life  they  are, 

In  process  after  process,  rise  and  fall, 

Bound  in  one  Mind,  in  changeless  honor  bound, 
Body  with  Spirit,  angel  and  man  and  star. 

XI 

HIS  ART 

UNTO  three  facts  in  honor  art  thou  bound : 
The  natural,  the  human,  the  divine. 
Art  must  be  born  of  Nature  :  from  dark  mine 
Jewels  and  precious  ore,  flesh  from  the  ground. 

[  70] 


HIS  PHILOSOPHICAL  PIONEERING 

But  men  are  beings  who  themselves  dumbfound. 
The  thinking  head,  however  coarse  or  fine, 
Transcends  this  brute  enlargement  of  the  spine : 
Humanity  is  Nature's  full  compound. 

If  this  were  all,  All  would  be  wanting  yet. 
From  this  intelligent  essence  of  the  Earth 
Came  one  stupendous  guess,  and  hence  another, 

How  nurs'd,  who  knows  ?  —  creature  and  Maker  met  - 
Born  of  the  ground  by  a  perpetual  birth, 
Here  is  God's  beast  communing  with  man's  Father ! 


XII 
HIS  PHILOSOPHICAL  PIONEERING 

THERE  is  deep  joy  ineffable,  serene, 

Uplifting,  in  the  conscious  thoughts  that  rise 

Through  noble  intellectual  exercise 

Into  those  realms  of  steadfast  trust  between 

The  known  and  unknown  worlds  where  we  convene 
As  heroes  from  the  Earth,  taking  the  Skies 
By  long  unwearied  siege.  Scouts  and  sharp  spies, 
Alert,  imagining  what  none  have  seen, 

We  counsel,  cipher,  despatch,  testifying 
Faint  intuitions,  with  firm  confidence 
Respecting  one  another's  words  as  faiths 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Past  scientific  :  hopes  more  doubt /defying 

Than  accurate  knowledges  deduced  from  sense ; 
Heart's  loves  that  must  survive  beneficent  deaths. 

XIII 
AND  ON  HIS  BIRTHDAY  ANNIVERSARY 

TIME  and  eternity  in  us  contending, 
Will  all  too  soon  effectually  shatter 
These  tenements  of  mind'assembled  matter 
Beyond  the  power  of  our  mortal  mending. 

The  strength  of  youth  too  soon  we  must  be  spending 
To  eke  out  age ;  while  from  our  hearts  we  scatter 
Sorrow  and  happiness  for  worse  or  better, 
That  in  their  influence  are  never /ending. 

But  thou  and  I  with  Universal  Law 

Have  made  our  timeless  and  eternal  peace. 
Here  birthdays  of  the  flesh  we  celebrate ; 

But  that  dread  Birth  which  no  flesh  ever  saw, 
When  all  this  life  apparently  shall  cease, 
We  keep  in  sacred  wonder  without  date. 


APOLOGIA 


APOLOGIA 


"I'VE  WISHED  I'D  BEEN  BORN  PROSE" 

I  'VE  wish'd  I  'd  been  born  prose,  like  most  my  brothers, 
Whose  unimaginative  sense  discreet 
Is  to  plain  purpose  perfect  and  doth  meet 
Life's  ordinary  need,  as  all  good  mothers 

Are  perfect  to  their  children.  Poetry  bothers 
Most  people  ;  which  most  people  cannot  eat 
Nor  wear,  how  much  less  read !  Hence  the  hard  feat 
They  leave  to  teachers  and  a  few  rare  others. 

Shamelessly  awkward  would  rude  mankind  be 
Without  fine  sense  of  fitness  which  expresses 
Taste  in  some  things  as  some  day  Jt  will  in  all. 

Could  I  enchant  what  beauty  I  now  see 
To  words  as  lovely  as  in  summer  dresses 
Ladies  and  children  look,  would  that  be  small  ? 


[  75  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 
ii 

"  IF  BOLDLY  I  COULD  CHARM 

IF  boldly  I  could  charm  to  vigorous  verse 

Half  what  I  see  and  think  and  feel.  —  But  no, 
I  cast  it,  yet  it  will  not  come  out  so. 
Th'  excruciating  agony  pains  worse 

With  each  fine  failure.  Nature,  patient  nurse, 
Instructs  me,  but  so  fresh  my  fancies  flow, 
Now  tears,  now  laughter,  solemn  now  and  slow, 
So  pregnant  full  of  meaning,  so  perverse, 

Art  cannot  in  soul  /satisfying  measure 

Compete  with  life  in  the  swift  ravishment 
Of  warm  full-blooded  senses.  Nor  were  truth 

Further'd  in  leaving  nothing  to  the  pleasure 
Of  ready  imagination.  Art's  intent 
Surpasses  all  achievement.  Art  is  Youth. 

in 

"IF  I  COULD  TELL 

IF  I  could  tell  what  beauty  I  behold 
In  this  wild  world  so  wonderful  to  me, 
The  pale  moon  brightening  o'er  the  twilight  sea, 
Where  ages  heave  and  sigh,  —  could  I  unfold 
[76] 


"SONG  WOULD  NOT  BE" 

How  ships  give  up  their  sunset  white  and  gold, 
Blending  themselves  in  blue  immensity, 
The  sweet  stars  how  come  forth,  how  fair  they  be, 
What  secrets  to  my  heart  the  deep  hath  told,  — 

Could  I  instruct  one  backward  human  being 
In  the  Love  lore  that  in  my  soul  I  feel, 
My  inmost  spirit  yearnings  could  impart, 

Could  but  half  utter  what  so  many  seeing 

See  not,  because  to  them  Heaven  is  not  real,  — 
My  God,  could  I  but  bless  one  human  heart ! 


IV 
"  SONG  WOULD  NOT  BE  " 

SONG  would  not  be  the  futile  joy  it  seems 
Pent  in  my  passionate  bosom  all  unheard, 
Uncherish'd,  save  in  secret.   Each  living  word, 
Wrought  in  the  fragile  fabric  of  my  dreams, 

Though  precious  to  none  other,  glows  and  gleams 
With  Heaven's  own  light  to  me.  Yon  glad  wild  bird, 
The  flute  of  whose  clear  voice  just  sweetly  stirr'd 
These  woods  to  lyric  echoes,  God  esteems. 

Give  me  one  soul  to  love  and  I  will  sing  ! 

Yea,  love  may  wound  my  heart,  it  cannot  hush 
The  music  of  its  beating !  The  deep  dells 
[77] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Of  my  own  secret  solitude  shall  ring 

With  lyric  pain,  as  when  some  woodland  thrush, 
Pensively  sweet,  its  love  at  twilight  tells ! 


"CHRIST  BY  THE  HASTY  MOB" 

CHRIST  by  the  hasty  mob  hail'd,  crucified ; 

By  slow  disciples  tardily  proclaim'd: 

And  if  the  greatest  Name  that  ere  was  named 

Went  down  in  infamy,  while  from  His  side 
His  few  friends  fled,  shall  I  who  have  not  died, 

Much  less  made  void  the  grave,  be  half  ashamed 

That  I  am  not  all  suddenly  far-famed, 

One  voice  in  this  now  busier  world  more  wide  ? 
The  race  must  guard  her  progress  at  all  hazards, 

Publishers  theirs,  I  mine,  with  wise  delay. 

God  save  from  fools  !  And  from  ourselves  as  oft. 
Many  false  teachers  rise,  and  many  wizards 

Astonish,  are  forgotten  in  a  day. 

Make  my  path  straight,  and  let  the  truth  be  scoff  'd ! 


[78] 


"THOU  WHO  ART  SACREDLY  ALONE" 

VI 

"I'LL  FEEL  WELL  PAID" 

I  'LL  feel  well  paid  if  after  I  am  gone 

A  few  choice  followers  of  Christ  perceive 
My  simple  import  and  in  God  believe 
With  more  implicit  confidence.  Thereon 

My  life  is  founded.  I  have  nothing  done 
To  merit  man's  esteem.  My  songs  I  leave, 
Trusting  to  help  some  heart  that  needs  must  grieve, 
Because  I  also  have  been  such  an  one. 

Let  me  reiterate  until  I  die 

The  gratitude  I  feel  for  having  been 
Born  in  an  age  of  promise  ere  fruition 

Tints  all  Love's  warmer  and  serener  sky 

With  song  and  fragrance.  The  mild  Spring  comes  in 
Snowbound,  awaiting  not  man's  recognition. 


VII 


"THOU  WHO  ART  SACREDLY  ALONE" 

THOU  Who  art  sacredly  alone  in  this, 

That  Thou,  Christ,  honorest  the  homeless  art 
To  which  I  cling,  from  which  I  cannot  part, 
O  pure  and  brave !  how  oft  with  faithful  kiss 
[79] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Thou,  when  rude  winds  have  dealt  by  me  amiss, 
Hast  tided  gently  out  my  stranded  heart 
From  shoal  to  deep,  till  I  again  could  start 
Full'canvass'd  on  the  broad  blue  sea  of  bliss ! 

I '  ve  had  more  than  my  share  of  pleasure  here, 
Hence  more  of  pain ;  but  this  I  take  with  that, 
Thankful  for  both,  since  both  in  Christ  agree 

To  guide  my  human  heart  more  and  more  near, 
Step  after  step  through  many  a  hard  combat, 
Safely,  O  Father,  Home  at  last  to  Thee  ! 


VIII 


"WE  YET  CAN  TRIUMPH" 

WE  yet  can  triumph.   We  have  tried  and  fail'd 
And  tried  again  and  fail'd  again  and  tried. 
Many  a  time  I  Ve  wish'd  that  I  had  died 
Before  I  saw  the  light.  But  though  I  quail'd, 

Yet  have  I  stubbornly  my  fate  assail'd 
With  dazed  determination,  dignified 
With  prayer  and  gratitude,  and  always  cried 
Thy  will  be  done,  O  God!   And  God  prevail'd. 

We  cannot  always  choose  :  it  were  not  best : 
God  knows ;  and  if  we  trust  all  will  be  well. 
I  pray  it  with  shut  eyes  and  open  mind : 


"WHAT  IF  I  FAIL" 

I  want,  be  it  with  all  my  soul  attest, 
Nothing  that  will  not  ultimately  tell 
To  the  eternal  good  of  all  mankind  ! 


IX 


"WHAT  IF  i  FAIL" 


WHAT  if  I  fail,  so  long  as  man  succeeds ! 

Doth  each  not  triumph  in  the  general  rise ! 

Prosperity  men  manage  to  devise 

Waits  not  on  one,  but  meets  the  nations'  needs 
With  cunning  artifice  and  swifter  speeds, 

That  still  react  through  cunning  hands  and  eyes 

To  stir  and  spur  all  peoples  till  man  flies, 

Borne  soul  and  body  upon  winged  steeds ! 
What  though  I  fail,  man  cannot  fail.  God  fail  ? 

Sad  body /failure  is  glad  soul/success  ! 

They  die  victorious  who  unconquer'd  die  ! 
Age  of  triumphant  Toil,  I  bid  you  Hail ! 

Applauding,  I  forget  my  small  distress ! 

Lost  in  God's  glory  I  am  more  than  I ! 


[81  ] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 


"NONE   SEEMS  TO  CARE" 

NONE  seems  to  care.   I  seem  to  care  too  mucn. 
Man's  frivolous  unconcern  for  solemn  sense 
More  saddens  me  than  the  incompetence 
Of  interfering  critics  who  ne'er  touch 

Just  words  without  first  feeling  in  their  clutch 
Those  greasy  thanks  most  current  with  the  dense. 
If  I  could  never  progress  without  pence 
I  'd  stick  stock/fast  forever,  scorning  such! 

My  time  will  come,  slow,  sure  and  bountiful. 
Not  in  the  sudden  fiction  meteor's  hour 
Shall  my  immortal  flame  flare  forth  and  die, 

Clear  star  refulgent,  with  a  steady  pull 

On  warring  factions.  Glow,  my  golden  flower ! 
Waft  blushes  of  scented  music  through  the  sky! 


XI 


"MOUNT  UP  ON  WINGS" 

MOUNT  up  on  wings  exultant,  O  my  spirit ! 
Man  having  brought  thee  forth  cannot  destroy 
Thy  human  voice,  the  voice  of  God  Whose  joy 
Thou  without  passport  or  acknowledged  merit 


"THY  QUIVERING  BODY' 

Didst  of  old  prophets  and  wise  bards  inherit ! 

Therefore  climb  up  and  sing,  perennial  boy  ! 

Let  nothing  evil  in  man's  nature  cloy 

Thy  message,  but  be  forward  to  declare  it ! 
Wage  on  the  world  thy  love  !  Thou  art  a  prince, 

A  Heavenly  envoy  in  disguise  of  youth: 

Bear  thyself  nobly,  and  feel  free  to  speak ! 
Speak  in  full  tones  of  blood  that  shall  convince 

Gainsaying  men  that  thou  thyself  art  truth  ! 

For  thou  art  strong  who  thinkest  thyself  weak. 


XII 
"THY  QUIVERING  BODY" 

THY  quivering  body  is  thy  just  safeguard. 

Hadst  been  born  flesh,  been  robust,  big  and  stout, 
That  strength,  which  nimbly  thou  wast  made  without, 
Had  boosted  thy  proud  soul  and  made  thee  hard ; 

Whereas,  although  a  passionate  fierce  bard, 
Thou  art  most  tender-hearted  and  devout, 
Able  to  learn,  think,  speak,  put  lies  to  rout, 
Nor  hast  one  handicap  thou  wouldst  discard. 

Thou  to  God's  apt  use  art  precisely  built, 
As  all  men  are,  who  prove  they  are  divine. 
I  would  not  have  thee  other  than  thou  art. 

[83] 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

Thou  art  not  putty  overlaid  with  gilt ; 
Nor  thin  mahogany  veneer  on  pine ; 
But  best  like  other  honest  men,  at  heart. 


XIII 


"WHAT  IF  MY  STRENGTH" 


WHAT  if  my  strength  prevail  not :  is  our  flesh 
All  there  is  of  us  ?  Have  I  fallen  quite  ? 
Is  nothing  yet  reserv'd  to  my  delight 
Of  all  I  once  enjoy Jd?  Still  cool  and  fresh 

I  feel  the  dew  that  never  vanisheth 

From  Love's  green  hills  where  youthful  poets  write ; 
And  still  at  evening  as  at  morning  light 
I'll  flute  and  listen  and  await  my  death. 

Fair  in  high  noon  out  on  the  purple  seas 
Majestic  argosies  and  clouds  I  watch 
And  marvel  at  their  glory,  like  a  boy 

Dreaming,  who  never  tires  of  mysteries, 
But  feels  upon  his  hair  his  father's  touch, 
And  in  his  heart  shareth  his  father's  joy. 


[84] 


"I'LL  WAIT  ON  GOD 


» 


XIV 

" PEACE,  PEACE" 

PEACE,  peace ;  rest,  O  my  heart!  high  in  the  hope 
That  all  men  some  day  shall  feel  interest 
In  each  man's  task,  and  each  man  shall  be  blest 
In  all  men's  good.  Then  free  in  the  wide  scope 

Of  ampler  thinking  shall  the  Heavens  ope 
Before  a  race  destined  to  meet  Heaven's  test, 
Till  God  in  myriads  be  manifest 
Without  one  coward  or  one  misanthrope. 

Then  shall  the  spirit  of  sweet  Poesy 

Prelude  the  Christ'led  hosts  of  lyric  saints 
On  their  triumphal  progress  through  the  skies 

To  the  deep  musics  of  Eternity, 

Unmarr'd  with  sadness.  Hush'd  the  old  complaints 
That  from  unlovely  hindrances  arise. 

xv 

"I'LL  WAIT  ON  GOD" 

I  'LL  wait  on  God  forever !  Stage  by  stage, 

Truth  will  come  true,  and  needs  not  my  forecast, 
Nor  any  man's.  Scientists  clinch  facts  fast : 
Prophets  announce  to  each  succeeding  age 


STILLWATER  PASTORALS 

The  Advent  of  Creation :  saint  and  sage 
Treasure  the  garner'd  wisdom  of  the  past 
Wrought  out  in  scholarship  and  bound  at  last 
To  prove  or  disprove  every  printed  page. 

I  '11  wait  on  God  forever  by  His  help 

And  in  His  strength  rejoice  !   His  child  am  I, 
Through  His  broad  Universe  expatiating ! 

As  the  fierce  lion  roareth  for  his  whelp 

And  shakes  the  jungle,  so  the  Lord  Most  High 
Shall  come  for  me,  here  in  His  wide  world  waiting ! 


THE    END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUlToN  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


MAR  27  1918 
6  1920 


50m-7,'16 


345101 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


